


i've got words to keep and lies to make true

by orange_yarn



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 5 Times, Backstory, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-18
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-15 08:11:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4599333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orange_yarn/pseuds/orange_yarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is nothing left of your home, after the bombs. When they pull you from the wreckage, you have the clothes on your back, and you have each other. That is enough, until the first winter.</p><p>(5 times Wanda Maximoff was caught stealing, and one time she got away with it. 2nd Person, Wanda's POV.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. clothes

**Author's Note:**

> Hi, yes. This is still not the next chapter of "no grave can hold my body down." Sorry about that, I'm writing it next, I swear. 
> 
> I've wanted to write this particular story for a while now. Ask anyone who knows me, I pretty much only care about the Maximoffs. I think I will always be upset about AoU, this is how I cope.
> 
> Anyway, here's my take on some backstory for the Maximoffs. It's unbetaed, blame any typos on my cats. Title is from "Holy Roller," by Thao & the Get Down Stay Down. I write everything in second person, apparently. It's Wanda's POV, in case you weren't sure.

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**(1. clothes)**

**-+-**

 

There is nothing left of your home, after the bombs. When they pull you from the wreckage, you have the clothes on your back, and you have each other. That is enough, until the first winter.

They tried to put you in the orphanages, but once you learned there was a home for boys and a home for girls, that you would be separated, you ran. You do not regret this choice, not even when the temperature plummets below freezing. Pietro gave you his jacket, he would not let you refuse, but by now his teeth have stopped chattering, and you are certain he will freeze. If this was summer, you could steal from the clotheslines, but also you would not have these problems.

“There is this guy,” your brother tells you. The two of you are huddled in alleyway, seeking shelter from the wind.“I hear he is looking for someone, to run his errands.”

“What do you mean, run his errands?” you ask. You do not turn to look at him, keeping your gaze focused on the store across the street.

“You know, errands,” Pietro says. He’s standing so close you can feel his breath ghost across your neck. “Making deliveries, that sort of thing.”

Now you turn to look at him, raising your eyebrows. Pietro keeps his face neutral. “And what would you be delivering?”

“Whatever he is selling,” he answers loftily, and you narrow your eyes in suspicion.

“Drugs?” you ask, and Pietro rolls his eyes. He is a terrible liar, your brother, so he does not even try. “Pietro, no. You will get yourself killed.” In your few short months out on the streets, you have already stumbled across more dead bodies than you would like to have seen -- starved, or frozen, or shot.

“Can we fight about this later?” Pietro asks, nudging you and nodding across the street, where a chattering group of teenagers is heading inside the store. “Now is our chance.”

Your plan is simple, and probably not very good, but you are desperate. You enter a busy store, slip on a coat while the owner is distracted, and run, hopefully faster than they can. It maybe would have worked, too, except Pietro is nervous and jumpy, and manages to topple a rack of clothes, one arm through a sleeve.

The shopkeeper lets out a roar of fury and lunges, grabbing a fistfull of shearling. You let out a shout, and Pietro startles into action, ducking out of the coat, grabbing your hand, and running for the door. You run until you can’t breathe, and finally crouch in another alley, several blocks away.

“We need a better plan,” Pietro gasps, hands on his knees, struggling to catch his breath. The air is like icicles in your lungs, but at least the run warmed you up. “Before we try the next store.”

“Yes,” you agree, glancing over your shoulder, convinced you are being followed, but there are only a few people milling about in the street, minding their own business. “Next time, don’t knock anything over.

“Very good.” Pietro lets out a laugh, a little hysteric. “I did not think of that.”

You did not come away empty handed, at least -- you managed to swipe a set of gloves before you had to make a break for it. Each of you takes one glove, and you twine your bare hands together, and you do not let go.

****  
  


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	2. food

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**(2. food)**

 

-+-

 

There is no room for kindness in Sokovia. Your country is dying before your very eyes. Your neighbors, they are not cruel, but they are desperate, just the same as you. The war is killing you all, some of you are just taking longer to die.

You take jobs, when you can. Pietro has better luck than you do, in this area. He hit a growth spurt just after you turned twelve. He is so tall now, your brother, he seems to tower over you. He lies about his age, and most people do not question him, even though he is so skinny, all awkward bony limbs.

In a perfect world, you would pay your own way, but work is scarce in Sokovia, especially for a couple of orphans. Your brother is quick, and you are clever. You both are starving. You scavenge, when you can, but that is not always an option. There is little choice, except to steal. Steal, or return to the orphanage and face separation, or die here together on the streets. You wonder sometimes which would be worse.

When you must, you take food from the back of delivery trucks, from shop windows, and you almost never get caught. Almost.

Normally the city market is a busy place, crowded and raucous. Today, the whole square, it seems, is silent, as they man in the booth bellows, practically vaulting himself over the counter to get to you. You are twelve years old, and you’ve been hungry for weeks, so hungry that your stomach cramps and you are always dizzy. Maybe this is why you were not so careful, stealing the loaf of soft bread from the man’s booth, right out from under his nose. Maybe this is why you do not run now, you feet rooted to the spot, mind reeling with terror as the man reaches out.

Out of nowhere, Pietro steps into the man’s path, cutting him off. Both of them stumble, and Pietro puts one hand on the man’s shoulder to steady him. He is barely taller than Pietro, but easily twice as wide, and his eyes are mean. This is not a fight your brother will win.

“My apologies,” he says cheerfully. “My sister, she was only waiting for me to pay.” He holds out a crumpled bill, and the man’s face, red and mottled, shifts in confusion, as if he cannot process what he is seeing.

A moment later, he seems to make up his mind, snatching the money from Pietro’s outstretched hand and harumphing.

“Pleasure to do business with you,” Pietro says, offering a half sort of bow, then hurrying to your side. He throws an arm around your shoulder and hustles you away from the booth, and towards the edge of the square. “Are you alright, Wanda?” he asks, voice pitched low, and sounding serious. “He did not hurt you.”

“I am fine,” you tell him. Around you, the chatter in the square picks back up, so no one hears you ask, “Where did you get the money?” Your brother hasn’t a job in weeks, unless there is something he’s not telling you. You do not like his friends, they are a bad influence. Too many of them are drug runners, working for the crime lords. You made Pietro promise he would never get involved in all of that, and if he’s broken his word… “Pietro? Tell me!”

His arm is still slung over your shoulder, so you feel it when he shrugs. “I picked his pocket,” he admits, a sly smile spreading across his features. You think back to moments ago, and the way Pietro crashed right into him. You sigh, and he asks, “How long do you think until he realizes?”

“I do not know,” you answer, hesitant to glance over your shoulder, in case you are being followed. “We should be gone before then.”

Pietro nods, and picks up the pace. You do not slow down until you are halfway across the city. Finally, you stop to rest, and split the loaf of bread. For that night, at least, you do not go hungry.

  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more tonight, it'll be up in just a minute. ;)


	3. medicine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS FOR THIS CHAPTER: Nothing actually happens, and nothing explicit is described, but this chapter does mention fear of assault.
> 
> And, here we are at the hurt/comfort section of all of my fics ever.

-+-

  
  


**(3. medicine)**

 

-+-

 

You barely make it to your fourteenth birthday.

It starts out as a simple cold. Pietro caught it from a boy he works with delivering papers, and you catch it from him. Those first few days, you have nothing more than a scratchy throat, a stuffed-up nose. It will pass, you think, in a few days you will be well again.

A week later, you can barely breathe without coughing, and your entire body aches and burns with fever. The winter is especially cruel, which only makes matters worse. You are sleeping in the basement of an abandoned house -- safe from the wind but the chill is everywhere. The two of you sleep curled so tightly together you might be one person.

Pietro is even worse off than you are. His skin is blistering hot, almost enough to burn you, and it is difficult to wake him. When he coughs, your bones shake. You lie awake for hours, listening to his ragged breathing, worried he will die in the night.

It is agony to move, but you force yourself off the floor. You press a clumsy kiss to Pietro’s cheek, and tuck the thin blanket tightly around him. You stumble to the pharmacy two blocks away, and stand swaying in the lurid fluorescent lights. Your head is pounding and your vision blurs as you try to read the labels.

If you were well, you would have heard him coming, but you are dizzy and feverish, so the pharmacist wraps thick fingers around your arm before you even realize that he is there.

“What are you doing?” he growls. He is an older man, with his eyes narrowed, and his shoulders bristling. His grip is tight enough to bruise, and you would not be able to fight him, even if you weren’t so weak with illness. You tug anyway, but it is useless. “Answer me, girl.”

Your brother will die, without medicine, alone in that basement. You have let him down, and there is nothing you can say to this man that will change things. “Please,” you croak. You cough, your chest burning, but you will not cry. Not here.

The man stares at you for what feels like an eternity, looking right into your eyes. You can imagine how you look, pale and trembling, eyes fever bright, breath whistling in your lungs. Finally, his expression shifts, and he huffs out a sigh.

“Come here,” he says, keeping his grip on your arm and tugging you towards the counter. If you are lucky, he will only call the police, but you rail yourself, ready to fight, in case he intends something worse. He will have to kill you first.

“The cough syrup will do no good,” he grumbles, reaching behind the counter, and pulling out a box. “You need to kill the infection. You need a doctor,” he amends, shaking his head. He almost sounds sad. “Here.” He presses the box into your hands, and lets go of your arm. “Now, get out of here. Go.”

He does not have to tell you twice. The second he releases his grip, you turn and bolt, shoes slipping on the tile floor. You do not stop running until you are back at Pietro’s side.

You split the box of pills evenly between the two of you, so you only get half the dose of antibiotics, but it is enough. It takes several long weeks, but by spring you are both back on your feet. Your brother is too proud to accept charity, so you never tell him about the old man’s kindness, which certainly saved your lives.

  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway done. I'll be back tomorrow night, but I have professional development so I doubt I'll be able to finish the whole thing. Probably by Wednesday night, though.


	4. jewelry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi, sorry this is late. It's long, to make up for it, I guess?
> 
> Still unbetaed, and I'm still 100% maximoff trash. What else is new?

-+-

 

**(4. jewelry)**

 

-+-

 

It is only a simple chain, with a clasp in the back and a plain silver locket. Maybe it is the way it catches the sunlight, or the fact that the shopkeeper has her back to you, attending another customer. Either way, you have always liked pretty things, knick-knacks and jewelry, the sort of trinkets you never could afford, not even when you still had your parents.

Your brother knows this, and over the years he has built you quite the collection. Bangles and bracelets adorn your wrists, mismatched rings line your knuckles. Nearly all of it, he stole, but you have not felt guilt in years, only a quiet rage coiling in your bones. Why should you feel guilty, when you are only trying to survive?

You are nearly sixteen, and you are a much better thief than when you were only a little girl. You have learned how to move without gathering attention, how to slip through crowds on silent feet, loosening purses and emptying pockets. Your brother is not always as subtle, but he is just as skilled, and he is fast.

Some days, you forget that he, too, can move without being seen or heard. Today is one of those days. With one eye on the shopkeeper, you reach for the locket. Your fingertips have barely brushed the thin metal before Pietro catches your hand. You startle, not expecting the contact, but before you can cry out he presses a finger to his hands and shakes his head, slowly.

“Come,” he whispers, tugging you away from the booth, and your intended treasure. “I have something much better.”

That piques your interest, and you allow Pietro to tug you away from the market. You pepper him with questions, but he only smiles, refusing to answer until you are nearly home. And by home, you mean that one of Pietro’s friends is letting you crash at his place, so for a few weeks you and your brother are taking turns on the ratty couch. You would rather stay awake. You know you have slept places that have smelled much worse, but you cannot think of many.

Finally, Pietro stops you on the steps of the apartment building, one of the least badly damaged on the block. At least four of the windows are not broken yet.

“Close your eyes,” Pietro commands. You watch as he slips a hand inside his pocket, then sigh and force your eyes shut as he glares at you. Just to for good measure, you cover them. He pulls one hand away from your eyes and presses something into your palm. “Okay, go ahead now.”

You blink your eyes open, and stare down at the necklace cupped in your palm. Another simple silver chain, not unlike the one you would have stolen, except it holds a ruby red stone, your favorite color. It catches the light, and you have to catch your breath.

“For your birthday,” Pietro says, nodding towards your gift. His hands are shoved in his pockets, and it is clear he is waiting for your verdict.

“Our birthday is not for two weeks,” you remind him, eyes still fixed on the necklace.

He shrugs. “I did not want to wait. What do you think?”

“It is beautiful,” you assure him, feeling the weight in your palm. “Thank you.” You should not ask, you know better than to ask, but you do all the same. “Where did you get it?”

“For you information, I bought it,” he says, and that really gets your attention.

“With what money?” you demand, narrowing your eyes. “Pietro, you did not!”

“Of course not,” he assures you. Pietro knows how you feel about the drug runners, but he rolls his eyes just the same. “You made me promise, remember?” Of course you remember, you’ve been having this exact argument for years. Your brother is silent for a long moment, and then he adds, “But, say I did--”

“No,” you cut in, but Pietro presses on.

“We could be rich, Wanda,” he cajoles. 

“Or you could get shot.”

“What about Adam, eh?” Pietro crosses his arms, leaning back into the doorway. “They did not shoot him.”

“They shot his dog,” you remind him, bluntly, and Pietro winces. Clearly he forgot that part, but your brother recovers quickly.

“Well, we don’t have a dog, do we?”

“No, you have a sister.” Pietro’s face falls as he thinks it through, and realizes that you have won this argument, again. Sooner or later, he will give up the fight. “Now, help me put this on.”

Pietro takes the necklace and undoes the clasp, while you gather your hair off your neck. With gentle hands he latches it at the back. The stone hangs in the hollow of your neck, and you bring up one hand to touch it.

Your brother takes and gives you an appraising once-over. “It looks good on you,” he decides, nodding. “Red, it is your color.”

“Thank you,” you say again, sincere, and Pietro only grins, looping an arm around your waist and guiding you inside the building, and out of the cold.

“We should get one. A dog, I mean,” he says a moment later, as you head for the rickety staircase. You laugh, and he says, “I mean it! And you know,” he pauses, and shoots you a devious grin, “my birthday is coming up.”

“Oh, hush,” you say, shoving at him. He sticks out his tongue and takes off, so you follow his laughter up the stairs.

 

  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have like, way too many fics started. Let's just see what happens next.


	5. time

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**(5. time)**

 

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It is Pietro’s idea to sign up for Strucker’s experiments. He is insistent, to say the very least, while you are hesitant. In the end, you had agreed, not because you believed it was right, but because Pietro wanted it so badly, and it was hard for you to deny him anything, when he asked for so little.

It turns out you were right to be wary. Still, you do not regret your choice, not until the guards come one day, and drag Pietro away from you, locking him into the room next door, and locking you out of it. You would have fought them, but you are both too weak, after the last round of “treatments,” as Dr. List has taken to calling them. As it is, Pietro only manages to thrash weakly as he is hauled off, and you cannot draw the breath to make a sound.

“It is only a precaution,” the doctor assures you. He is standing just outside your cell, afraid to enter, afraid his experiments might actually be working. “Until your new...abilities...are under your control, we cannot risk you injuring each other. You are too valuable to the program.”

It is not until several days later that you realize exactly how valuable you have become. You are lying on the floor of your cell, with a pounding in your skull that makes you dizzy, makes you sick, makes you dig your fingernails into your scalp deep enough to draw blood. You must look as terrible as you feel, because the guards do not bother to pitch their voices down lown, in the corridor just outside. You overhear their conversation, one of them was reassigned, as the last of the patients in the second wing died in the night. It is only you and your brother now.

You do not put your plan together until three days after that, when the pain finally begins to loosen its hold on you. Three days of shivering and shaking, of a fever that burned right through you, of listening to your brother’s hoarse screams, the tremors and thuds as his body thrashes about, beyond his control. Three days of almost wishing you would just die, of wondering if you hadn’t already.

Three days later, you realize your brother is not just screaming in the cell next door, he is screaming in your head. More than that, you are beginning to realize the minds of men are opening to you, that they might one day be malleable. For now, it is trying enough to creep into the guards minds to try and distract them, to leave the doors of your cells unlocked, so that you may enter his. You are not even thinking of escape, you have only stolen a little time, enough to see your brother with your own eyes.

Pietro looks wrung-out and ragged, slumped in the corner of his cell. You make it two steps inside the doorway before your knees give out, and you hit the floor. Your brother scrambles to his feet, and in an instant, he has shifted across the room, closing the distance between the two of you.

“Wanda,” Pietro whispers brokenly, cupping your face in one hand, and stroking your hair with the other. “Little sister, what have they done to you?”

You do not have the strength to speak, but you prod at your brother’s mind, feeling his jolt of surprise, and beneath that, his concern for you, battling his determination to see this through. You want to show him exactly what Strucker and Dr. List have done. They have made you stronger.

Your stolen minutes tick away more quickly than you hoped, and all too soon the guards return, and pull you away once again. They tighten security, after that, but they cannot truly keep you apart. You never leave Pietro’s mind, after that first connection, and the link grows stronger every day. Soon, your brother will be by your side again, and when that day comes, you will be unstoppable.

  


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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go! 
> 
> orange-yarn.tumblr.com


	6. (+1) pietro

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**(+1. pietro)**

 

-+-

 

When you were ten years old, Pietro kept himself between you and a missile for two straight days. You realized then that someday, your brother will give his life to save another.

Nine years later, on the battlefield that was once your homeland, he steps into a dozen bullets and proves you right.

It is not fair. There is something terribly, fundamentally wrong with this world, if you are expected to live without him in it. You cannot think, you cannot even breathe, not with half of your soul snuffed out. You would not have left the city, if the Vision had not carried you out, because you do not intend to live without Pietro.

Maybe, just maybe, you will not have to.

The devil came to you once already, nine feet tall and gleaming silver. You sold your soul for the chance to kill Tony Stark. You wish you still had it, not for your own salvation, but because now you are left with nothing else to barter, nothing to offer for your brother’s life.

If you have nothing to trade, then so be it. You have become quite the thief, since the first time your world ended. You could not change things, then, but it is different now. Death has stolen your brother, true, but you are going to steal him back.

Your powers are still growing, even after Pietro’s death, spiraling out of control. You are beginning to wonder if there is even a limit, to what you can do. You suppose it is time to find out.

It is easy to get lost, in the tangle of universes, in the woven threads of countless realities. You have nothing left to tether you, not since your brother breathed his last, nothing to hold you to this plane of existence. With nothing . You will find it, but you must lose yourself first. It is no matter. You are not afraid of anything, any more.

You know exactly what you are looking for. Pietro’s soul is more familiar than your own, and it is calling to you, from somewhere in the ether. He is a spark, silver and blue, he is every memory, the good and the bad, he is longer winter nights and lazy summer afternoons. He is reaching for you, out in the dark, up from the deep, and you have kept him waiting long enough.

You close your eyes, and breathe in deep, and you drift.

 

-+-

  
  


“There is another world?” Pietro asks, late one night, when all the world is silent. The two of you are crowded in your one tiny bed, a tangle of limbs in the dark. There is no where else in any world where you would rather be, and no one else you would rather be with.

“Another version of this world,” you explain. There are secrets you must keep in this world you have made, but not from him. Never from him.

“And another version of you?” he presses, and you nod. He shivers, winding his arms tighter around you. His voice is broken as he murmurs, “She is alone.”

You squeeze your eyes shut tight as your hearts beat in tandem, and try to forget how it felt to be her.

 

  
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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That very last scene was the first thing I wrote for this fic, before I even knew this was the story I wanted to write. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. Please come say hello! orange-yarn.tumblr.com

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is going to be angstier than my Netflix fic, but it should also be done in a day or two. I'll post at least the next two parts before I go to bed tonight.
> 
> Come say hi on [tumblr](orange_yarn.tumblr.com). That link probably doesn't work, I'm orange_yarn on there, too.


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